A Mage in Hightown
by Avrielle Rogue
Summary: Fenris overhears Anders being captured by Templars and steps in to help. (Short drabble for commandercritical)


Fenris crouched, hidden in the shadows of the darkened Gallows. He winced as two Templars clapped an unconscious Anders into wrist bindings rusty enough to bite painfully into the skin with any attempt at movement. The mage slumped over when they roughly let him go, and the weight of his falling body dug the serrated steel cuffs deeper into his raw arms.

The sight of anyone in chains made Fenris' stomach churn. His ears pricked for any sign of additional footfalls, and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he awaited the right moment to strike.

As he lingered, a slightly embarrassing notion flitted into his mind of how much had changed in these last short weeks.

Fenris had been there when Anders plunged a small, sharp knife into Karl's side. The mage's friend and lover had fallen to his knees and slumped over unceremoniously, a more merciful fate in death than a life as a Tranquil.

It was the first time of many since then that the elf felt a tinge of empathy for the plight of mages, as well as a solemn respect and camaraderie with his traveling companion. Were the injustices occurring to mages across Thedas all that different than those exacted on slaves, those that burned the memories from his mind? At least he couldn't _remember_ all the horrors that had befallen him. The Tranquil remembered all, the passion, elation, and depths of depression, and it meant no more to them than their next unconscious intake of air.

There hadn't been time to notify Hawke when Fenris had heard the commotion outside his mansion, and by the time he emerged and melted into the shadows, Anders had already been knocked unconscious by his attackers. Fenris spat a curse in Tevene, but the streets of Hightown we still too populated in the early evening to create a commotion. Lucky for him, the Templars had made it all too easy to follow them to the Gallows where they would soon meet their messy and extremely painful ends.

With a sleek grace that would have elicited a spark of respect as the last cohesive thought in their minds, Fenris slipped from the shadows as the Templars passed. His great sword sliced upward through the nearest man's body, shearing it cleanly through most of his torso before sticking messily around the spine. The other Templar was so caught by the sudden movement, he jumped backwards, dropping his sword in fright. It wouldn't have done him any good, however, as Fenris immediately drove his own through the man's chest, kicking his body hard to drop it like a stone and free his weapon once more. Neither man was yet dead where they lay, blood gurgling slowly from their lips. Fenris finished them off with a quick swipe across both their throats that was more mercy than they deserved. But he didn't need anyone overhearing the commotion.

Grasping a circle of keys from one Templar's belt, Fenris surveyed the scene to ensure no one had yet perked to the sound and then rushed to Anders' aid, gingerly unlocking each hand from its confines. With some effort, he slung the man over his shoulders and began making his way back to the enveloping shadows along the perimeter of Hightown.

...

Anders' eyelids fluttered open, and Fenris elevated his head a bit more to keep the mage from choking on the potion he was being fed. Still, the mage sputtered with confusion and sat up too fast from the hard floor before the elf took him roughly by the shoulders and eased him back to a supine position.

Anders blinked up at him, taking in his surroundings, and finally allowed himself to relax against the elf.

"Usually the other way around," Fenris said gruffly.

"Excuse me?" Anders' voice came out hoarse and dry. Fenris tipped the flask back into his mouth once more.

"It's not often I get to play the healer."

Anders dried his mouth with the back of his hand, color slowly returning to his face.

"I don't think I like it," Fenris continued. "You would do well to keep your wits about you in Hightown after dark, Anders."

Anders flipped over gingerly onto one elbow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He studied the elf's face. Fenris averted his eyes with a scowl.

"You didn't call me 'mage,'" he said softly. Fenris braced himself for a sarcastic follow-up comment, but one never came.

"Yes, well… as with _my_ healing _you_, let's not make a habit of it. I'd hate to tell Hawke we lost our best healer because I couldn't find a potion in this blasted mansion."

Anders beamed in response, but quickly tamped it down the moment the elf made eye contact. He rolled to his back, leaning once more against Fenris' legs on the cool floor. Fenris winced at the tenderness initially, but when the mage closed his eyes and settled his shoulders like a bird squirming to find comfort in a prickly nest, a soothing cloud of relief settled over Fenris.

His friend was safe now, and although he wouldn't admit it, least of all to himself, he would do everything in his power to keep it that way.


End file.
